All We've Got to the End of the Line
by Griselda Banks
Summary: Oneshot. A brother loves at all times, in every circumstance, no matter what. The details don't matter. The trappings are irrelevant. At the end of the day, the only important thing is that they're brothers.


**Author's Note: Anyone familiar with me and my work will probably not find it surprising at all that, for my first official crossover, I crossed these two stories and wrote about these two bromances. These are the two stories that have captivated my heart more than any other, combining all the elements I love most. Possibly what I love most about FMA and Captain America is the relationships at the very heart of their stories. The only reason either of these stories exist is that there were two brothers who loved each other more than life itself. Today, I celebrate that love.**

As the floor shook violently beneath his feet, Ed fell to his knees. Sharp pain stabbed him through the bullet wounds in his leg and his abdomen. His whole body screamed at him to stop, to slow down, but he kept pushing himself forward. The helicarrier shook again as another barrage hit it. But Ed ignored the shaking and the debris crashing through the glass as the craft fought to stay airborne.

All that mattered was the man trapped under a huge steel beam. He saw Ed approaching and frantically tried to free himself, but it had pinned him in place, and with only one working arm, he couldn't get the right leverage to push it off. Ed grasped the steel beam and pulled, then collapsed in pain as the muscles in his abdomen tore away from the bullet lodged there.

Terrified golden eyes met his, wild behind sweaty strands of golden hair. The metal arm strained again, desperately fighting to break free. Ed looked into those eyes he knew so well—pleading, begging, more terrified than they had ever been—and he found new strength. No amount of pain mattered. Not when he looked into his brother's eyes.

Letting out a cry as pain roared in his stomach, Ed wrapped both arms around the metal beam and pulled with all his might. Inch by inch, the beam rose through the air, till finally Al was able to shimmy out and scramble to his feet again. He held his right arm close to his body, protecting the shoulder Ed had dislocated earlier, and watched Ed with wary confusion.

Ed let the metal beam fall and turned to face him, every breath sending another wave of agony through his whole body. "You know me," he gasped.

"No I don't!" Al yelled, flailing at him with his metal arm.

Ed raised his shield and wearily blocked the blow, stumbling backwards as the helicarrier shuddered again. "Al," he panted. "You've known me...your whole life. Your name...is Alphonse Elric."

For a second, as Al looked at the ground, panting, Ed thought he saw a flicker of recognition at the sound of his name. But then his face twisted into a glare again. "Shut up!"

This time, Ed couldn't raise the shield in time, and the blow landed on his cheek instead. But even though the punch made him see stars as he staggered backwards, Ed felt an incongruous burst of affection fill his heart. Memories of their childhood flashed before his eyes—memories of sparring and wrestling, and his own disgruntled complaints as his little brother beat him every time. Memories of the war, when Ed smugly pointed out that he was finally taller and stronger than Al, until Al proved that his sharpshooting skills were much better than his.

Ed swallowed the enormous lump in his throat. He didn't care anymore if Al kept beating him at everything for the rest of his life. He wouldn't care if he went back to the short, scrawny kid he had been before the serum. He didn't care if he died today. He just wanted Al back.

"I'm not gonna fight you," he said, letting the shield drop from his hand. The sign of his strength, the symbol of the Hero of the People, fell through a hole and dropped to the river far below. He watched it fall, then looked directly into Al's eyes. "You're my brother."

With a roar, Al launched himself at Ed and knocked him onto his back. He braced himself against Ed, gripping the front of his uniform with his hurt hand as he raised his metal fist. His blond hair clung to the blood and sweat on his face, turning it a dull brown. His golden eyes, once so full of cheerful innocence and warm compassion that no amount of cruelty could dull, now swirled with rage and confusion. His mouth twisted and he spat out, "You're my mission."

The metal fist slammed against Ed's cheekbone, jerking his whole head back. If they weren't perched precariously on the edge of the hole, his head would have slammed against glass and steel. "You're—my—mission!" Al yelled wildly, punctuating each word with another blow of his fist.

This wasn't like sparring in the alleyways of Brooklyn. This wasn't like their friendly tussles in an army camp, surrounded by soldiers cheering them on and placing bets on one or the other of the Elric brothers. This wasn't even like one of the few times they'd gotten into a real fight, then stormed off in anger. Even when Al had yelled at him before, or even hit him and actually hurt him, Ed had always been able to detect an undercurrent of warmth. They knew that, no matter how angry or hurt they might feel in the moment, nothing could really come between them.

He saw none of that in Al's eyes now. Hydra had killed his gentle, loving brother and replaced him with a cold killer. Ed thought he'd dealt with losing his brother before. He thought he'd known what heartbreak was when he'd believed Al was dead. Now he saw how wrong he was. It was infinitely worse to see his baby brother turned into a murderer.

The thing was, he still loved Al. Even if Al hated him, even if he didn't remember any of the time they'd shared, even if he killed him right now and never batted an eye, Ed knew he would always love Al. His heart was breaking into a million pieces, but every tiny shard was devoted, forever and completely, to Alphonse Elric.

Ed's right eye was swelling shut, and tears blurred his vision, but he blinked them away and focused on Al's face. "Then finish it," he rasped. "Because I'm with you...to the end of the line."

Something exploded nearby, and Ed felt himself falling backwards as the helicarrier tipped. Al hung on with his metal hand, watching Ed slipping away. His eyes were wide, his whole face stricken with horror. The last thing Ed saw before crashing into the water below was Al's lips forming a word he didn't need to hear to understand.

"Brother...?"

* * *

Predictably, Steve found Bucky by the pond. He'd been wandering down here a lot over the past year, to get away from everything and work on mastering this new body. Since he no longer needed to eat or sleep, he could spend hour after hour down here, relearning everything that used to come naturally.

It was a mirror image of what Steve did back at the house, only much worse. At least Steve could still eat. At least Steve still had one hand he could still use to feel things, one leg he could still stand on without any pain or discomfort. Bucky didn't have any of that. He was nothing but an empty husk now.

It was strange. Every time Steve looked at his best friend, he felt as though he were simultaneously looking at a stranger and someone he knew better than he knew himself. He wondered if Bucky felt the same way every time he looked at Steve's new metal limbs.

Bucky paused in the middle of punching the air and turned to look at him. "You think it's been enough time?"

Steve grinned. "'To train the mind, you must first train the body.' That's what our teacher told us. But...are you sure you're any good with that massive hollow body?"

Bucky's impassive metal visor betrayed no expression, but he could hear the smirk in Bucky's voice. "Better than a punk with automail."

Steve charged in, landing a solid punch with his metal fist. It clanged hollowly against Bucky's chestplate, but Bucky ignored it as he swiped at Steve's face. Steve ducked under the attack and rolled between Bucky's legs, kicking out with his metal heel and knocking the suit of armor slightly off-balance. Steve flipped onto his feet and ran in for another attack.

Their technique had become completely different from the way they used to spar. Before, there had been only slight differences in their height and weight, but now Bucky was so _huge._ Still, Steve found that he could use his skinny build and quick footwork to his advantage against Bucky's increased strength and slower movements.

One advantage to their current state was that Steve now had two built-in weapons. His two steel limbs were heavy and often a hassle to take care of, but they certainly made his punches more threatening than they used to be. Maybe he wouldn't have to rely completely on Bucky's impenetrable body and their alchemical prowess to keep them safe.

Later, as they sat by the edge of the pond to let Steve catch his breath again, Bucky looked over at him for a long moment. Steve wished those glowing red eyes were more expressive.

"You still serious about this State Alchemist thing?"

Steve brushed sweaty bangs off his forehead. "I'm serious about trying. I'm going to see this Mustang guy, see if he can give me a shot."

"Why are you so keen to join the military? There are so many other things you could do..."

Steve rolled his eyes. This again. "Come on, Buck. I can't just sit in that wheelchair and be a cripple all my life—"

"I'm not telling you to do that," Bucky interrupted. "But to become a dog of the military..."

"That's what you don't get," Steve said, picking up a pebble and skipping it across the water of the pond. "This isn't just about research grants or promotions or a career. It isn't about _me._ "

Even the expressionless steel helmet looked skeptical. "Right. Because you've got nothing to prove."

Steve pressed his lips into a thin line and returned his gaze steadily. "I don't care what people think of me, Buck. I don't care if they say I'm short and skinny, I don't care if they stare at my automail or tell me I can't do it because I'm too young, or because I'm _handicapped._ I don't care if people spit at me in the streets and call me a dog or say that I've sold my soul. I know that I have skill. I know that I can help people. So how could I just sit still when I know I could help so many _more_ people as a State Alchemist?"

He looked down at his metal hand and closed it into a fist. He could still feel a distant echo of the agony he'd felt when it was ripped off, but he would never regret losing it. Not for a single moment. "Besides," he murmured, "there's no better way to find out how to get your body back."

"You don't have to do that," Bucky mumbled.

"Yes I do." His shoulders slumped and his bangs fell into his eyes again, but suddenly he didn't have the energy to brush them aside. "It's my fault you're like that. I just...I missed her so much, I didn't want to keep on going without her. It was my mistake...but I roped you into it too, and now..."

The heavy, rough gauntlet that was Bucky's hand settled on his left shoulder. "I wanted your mom back too," he said softly. "You know that after my parents...well, she was the only family I had left too. Or so I thought." He squeezed Steve's shoulder gently, timidly, as if afraid of hurting him. "I should have stopped you. I should have known better. I mean...I'm older, I'm supposed to be looking out for you, but then...you had to give up your whole _arm_ just to get me back..."

Steve reached up and grasped Bucky's hand, even though he wouldn't be able to feel it. "It was worth it, Buck. It was _so_ worth it."

They were silent for several minutes, just sitting and watching the sun slowly sinking behind the hills in the distance. They had done this so many times before, but something felt different now. They could both sense this was the first day of a new stage of their lives.

"So what about you?" Steve suddenly spoke up, still gazing out across the pond. "You ready to follow Steve Rogers, the youngest State Alchemist in all of Amestrian history?"

Bucky's laugh echoed around his entire body. "Hell no. I'm following that scrawny punk from Risenpool."

Steve looked up in surprise, and discovered that he'd been wrong about Bucky's eyes. They glowed in his empty helmet, as warm and encouraging as they'd always been. When they looked into each other's eyes, it didn't matter that one of them was an empty suit of armor and one was a cripple with only two limbs of his own. It didn't matter that they were about to leave behind everything they'd ever known and attempt the impossible. As long as they had each other, it would be enough.

With a chuckle, Steve ducked under Bucky's arm and curled up against his cold metal side. "If I'm a scrawny punk, then you're a big fat jerk."

Bucky let out a snort of laughter and affectionately ruffled Steve's hair. He settled his arm around Steve's skinny shoulders, and even though it was hard and cold, Steve thought he had never felt so comfortable.

"Seriously, though," Bucky said, the steel chestplate vibrating against Steve's ear. "We're all we've got. From now on, we can't do anything that could pull us apart."

"There's nothing that could ever pull us apart, Buck. And there never will be."


End file.
